The Shadow of His Future
by Bohemian Storm
Summary: Ron hates picturing his future and wonders why he can never see Hermione in those dreams of things to come.


**Disclaimer:  **I don't own them.

**Notes:  **This was written as a 30 minute challenge as issued by Milla.  It hasn't been proof read and it lapsed into a corny fluff fic.  Nita convinced me to upload it because, as she said, she needs a goodbye present.  :D  Dedicated to Nita for that very reason.

**The Shadow of His Future**

_By Bohemian Storm_

            He had started watching her study one day during their second year and not quite realized he had been doing it at first.  He certainly hadn't meant to forget that he was supposed to be studying and spend an hour watching her scratch away at a scroll.  They had a Potions essay due the next day.  She had finished hers the week before, of course, but she told them that she wanted to get a head start on the Transfiguration essay they had due two weeks from that night.

            He thought it was rather silly she had started so early, but he supposed that was just something she did.  He would have said something about it too, but Harry had glared at him, and then told him she was right.  They needed to work on their Potions essays.

            He hadn't finished the essay, of course, because she had managed to distract him.  She had brought her quill to her mouth and chewed lightly on the end while thinking and he found that to be a little gross.  Who chewed on their quills?  They were feathers.  He couldn't imagine that they tasted very pleasant.

            She hadn't noticed that night, but had caught his eye a few weeks later.  He had blushed a very deep shade of red before turning his eyes toward his own homework and pretending to be working furiously.  She must have known he was faking it because he never worked on his homework with such fervor.  

            During their fourth year he had been so enamored with Fleur that he had almost stopped noticing her.  He still stared at her a little during the times they were supposed to be studying, but mostly his eyes were on the long blonde hair, not the brushy brown mane.  He knew it was his fault that she was going to the ball with Viktor.  He knew he had ignored her, treated her badly, asked her as a last resort.  He even knew that he shouldn't have done any of those things.  It wasn't that he was really as dumb as he acted, but sometimes he just couldn't help himself.

            Fifth year had been different.  She'd been different.  They'd all been a little different, really, but she seemed the most changed around him.  She had been quieter, less angry when they were alone.  They'd fought.  They always fought, but she gave up more easily, gave in to his arguments sometimes, no matter how stupid they were.  She wasn't concerned with fighting with him anymore.  Their arguments didn't matter and he decided that he didn't like that.

            He had picked at her more, watched her during the times they were supposed to be studying, then picked at her whenever he could.  Sometimes she would reply in a shrill voice, demanding where he got off making fun of her when there were obviously so many faults within his own character.  He rather liked those times.  Other times she would stare at him, stare through him really and he wondered what she was thinking about during those moments.

            He wondered if she ever thought about the future.  He had tried to look past the brewing war and things had frightened him so badly that he had vowed never to do it again.  He wondered if she ever imagined the future the way he saw it.  He was only fifteen and already he felt sort of old.  He already scared himself by picturing his future as bleak and empty.

            He didn't want to leave the right now because she was in the right now.  Sometimes when he thought about the future she wasn't there and he never knew why.  Sometimes he would imagine future studying sessions and she wouldn't be there to distract him from the Potions essay that could easily bore him to death.  Her chair was empty and her book bag was covered in dust.  Sometimes Harry was crying.

            He didn't want to find out why she wasn't there, so he focused on the now.  He focused on the fact that she was indeed sitting across from him, a smear of ink on her chin, staring thoughtfully at an open book.  She was chewing on her quill and he smiled, remembering the first time he had seen her do that in second year.  It still disgusted him.

            She ran a hand through her thick hair, then pulled it out in anger when she couldn't comb all the way through without tangling it.  He smirked, and then caught her eye when she looked up.

            "Why aren't you doing your homework?" she asked.

            He looked around the common room.  It was nearly empty with the exception of some students near the window.

            "Your attention is wandering again," she said.

            "And you're surprised why?" he asked.

            She smiled a little.  "I suppose I shouldn't be after all this time."

            He looked at her and decided he had to ask.  "Do you ever think beyond Hogwarts?"

            "What?"

            "About the future."

            She blinked.  "I . . . no, not really."

            "Not even your career?  That's certainly something I would expect you to have all planned out since you could walk."

            She blushed.  "Well, I have thought about my career, of course, but beyond that . . . nothing."

            "Not even about us?" he asked, referring to himself and Harry.

            She shrugged.  "It's hard to think about, isn't it?"

            He looked away.  Why had he brought this up?

            "Well, isn't it?" she pushed.  "A war is starting.  We don't know what's going to happen."

            "Are we not there?" he asked.

            "Why do you keep asking that?"

            "I'm curious," he replied defensively.

            "What about you?" she asked.  "Are we in your future?"

            "I asked you first," he snapped.

            "Fine.  Act like a child."

            "Are we there, Hermione?"

            She stared at him, her face expressionless and he realized why she was so distracting.  He had never seen eyes that wide or that honest before in his entire life.  Now he knew what his mother meant when she said that romance happened in a person's eyes.

            "Always," she replied.

            "Oh," he said.  "You and Harry are in mine too."

            She smiled.  "Good."

            They fell silent again, her quill once more scratching the paper and his quill hovering over his book.  He had lied to her.  He had actually lied to her about what he saw.  He had never wanted to lie about it, but when she asked he couldn't say that he didn't see her there.

            In all honesty, he never wanted to find out what it would be like if she really wasn't.

End


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